THE STORY – Fetish camboy Aaron Eagle agrees to spend the night with an anonymous client, only to discover a disturbing tie to his past
THE CAST – Kieron Moore & Reed Birney
THE TEAM – Elliot Tuttle (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 82 Minutes
There’s a complex space within the human psyche that emerges when probing deep and multifaceted moral questions. In our society, questions related to sexuality are often so taboo that even the mere allusion to such topics are quickly shut down. Which is a shame because it’s a vital aspect of life, informing not just of personality but of systemic practices that have been ingrained for generations. Within this wide spectrum are, of course, darker and unsettling questions. Opening up this dialogue is uncomfortable but also revealing to the true nature of the human spirit. Sometimes comforting, sometimes insidious, but always enlightening. These are the topics that “Blue Film” is obsessed with analyzing. It’s a stark portrait that never finds the easy answers because it’s not interested in them. Sometimes to a fault, but always in a manner that produces an intriguing landscape to explore.
The minute Aaron Eagle (Kieron Moore) appears on screen, his presence is immediately impactful. He’s a camboy, addressing his captivated online audience with a series of demeaning retorts that play up the dominant fetish personality he exudes. This is his realm, and one of his patrons has paid him a hefty sum of money to meet in person later that night. When Aaron first arrives, he’s greeted by a man wearing a ski mask to obscure his identity. Aaron is puzzled, but goes along with what this fantasy must be. When the stranger takes out a camera and starts asking invasive personal questions, Aaron initially decides to leave. That’s when he discovers this is no stranger at all. It’s Hank Grant (Reed Birney), an old middle-school teacher who left in disgrace after being accused of being sexually inappropriate with a student. Instead of fleeing, Aaron stays and converses with this controversial figure from his past. Their conversations divulge a complicated relationship to their own desires, and how such traumas lead to a powerful catharsis each must confront.
At the center of the film is a fascinating discussion, one that is challenging with the potential of being severely off-putting as well. It’s stated very clearly the kind of man that Hank is. His sexual desires are for minors. He is a predator and deserves to be shamed for it. The character himself acknowledges this fundamental quality of his personality. He openly admits to inviting Aaron back into his life because he reminds him of his younger self, a time when he was a student in love. It’s an upsetting notion to be confronted with, and it’s constantly challenged. However, what writer-director Elliot Tuttle aims to deconstruct is the human drive that is beneath such individuals. Hank is a monster, but is he monstrous? Does he deserve pity? Or if not pity, some kind of empathy for the dark events in his own life that fully acknowledge has aided in turning him into a detestable person? At one point, he talks about his problematic childhood and says his mother, “wasn’t a good person but didn’t know how to be better.” It’s spoken not as a means to rationalize the bad decisions made in life but to understand the context of a person’s unfortunate circumstances. On this night, Hank wants gratification but wrestles with how destructive and isolating his perversion has made his life, and how oddly contemptuous he has to be at peace with that.
It’s a complex portrait of a character who would normally be met with utter disdain. He still is to a point, but it’s clothed within a poignant sorrow. The same is extended to Aaron, who, despite being boisterous in his online persona as a domineering figure and appearing in control, hides a vulnerable core scarred by a past romance that left him damaged. This exploration is not quite as nuanced as it is with Hank, but it does offer the perspective of how this man utilizes sexuality as a guard against intimacy. He liberally throws out homophobic slurs to grant power over others before he can surrender it himself. This interaction with Hank floods back those fragile emotions he thought were abandoned. He’s not falling in love with his abuser. But he is recognizing his own loneliness and finding an odd kinship with an old man pushed so far away towards the edges of society that this brief interaction is still illuminating.
It’s a delicate dance that Tuttle has to maneuver through. It’s obvious this story can’t give total sympathy to this man who’s done horrible things. Still, there is an interesting question about how much relatability to a tormented soul should be considered. Some areas are explored with more thematic richness than others, but it’s an engrossing piece that is quite captivating. There’s an intimate space created by this two-hander, theatrical in nature but always able to create an environment for these individuals to collaborate with their emotions. It’s a lot better handled than the direction, which can’t help but revert to static shots of long monologues that stall the pacing. The attempts to break up that stylistic monotony are also of mixed results, as the occasional cutaways to DV footage, meant to either capture home movies of the past or bring grime to more salacious acts, are messily deployed. Tuttle has a very compelling premise and lays out a solid foundation to play with this commentary. The ultimate execution is uneven but still alluring.
Both Moore and Birney are delivering strong work, and they must command the screen as the film’s only ensemble players. There’s no question that Birney has the challenging role to play, and it’s commendable that he finds a nuanced array of shades to play within. The kindly older man has a naturally warm and inviting presence that effectively hides a darker persona. But even that aura is an odd collage that must be deciphered, and his somber portrayal houses a world of pain that is drawn from his illicit desires. It’s a hard role to pull off, which he accomplishes with a tenderness that never forces a wrong note. Moore doesn’t have nearly the amount to stretch, but switching from confident bravura to wounded sorrow is engaging to watch. When he speaks of his past love that abandoned him, the genuine hurt in his eyes is an effective display. Both actors beautifully manifest a dynamic range in their performances and create a grounded chemistry to play off of as well.
It may not always be easy to thoroughly enjoy a work like “Blue Film” because of its tough subject matter. Nobody wants to see an entirely sympathetic perspective of a person who has committed some of the most horrible deeds imaginable. But the strength of the film is not in seeking to answer those pure moral questions. It thrives in that gray area, contemplating the pain that leads people to the lives they end up creating for themselves. It’s in this arena that two damaged figures find comfort in each other’s misery, not absolving either one but understanding their own emotional state. The storytelling and performances support this, even if the narrative doesn’t showcase this theme in the most consistently alluring manner. What is present is a layered character study that is still worthy to be sought out.
